The sorceress, typically handled with little care and vastly feared by even the most strong-willed of men, was at the mercy of Bayard. Thankfully, he had always been good to her. Whether it was fear that made him this way or pity, Melarue would not complain about it. The woman's legs were, indeed, quite wobbly from the years of being shackled in place. It almost felt like all of her muscle turned into pockets of air, and she was all but helpless and relying utterly on the guard's physical support.
A body was just that - a body, and the fact that he undressed her and she was now bare was of no concern to her. If anything, she knew that she was unkempt and odorous. There was nothing attractive about that. The fact that he might have stared a second too long would have also not bothered her, as he is a man and she a woman. It's natural. The only thing that bothered her was the lack of dignity. She wasn't even treated as human, and that was really saying something as humans were the lowest of the low. Yet, Bayard, as he does - fought verbally with the guards on behalf of her. Not that it worked, but at least it was something. She seemed to count on him for much over the last few years.
He pulled off her headpiece and her hair fell around her shoulders; raven and stringy from the neglect. A mauve gaze would greet his own for some time; locked in place to watch him as he washed her face, wondering what would become of him later on down the line. It'd be a lie to say that she hadn't developed some strange attachment to the man. But would they fade away once she had a taste of freedom? Her eyes betrayed nothing; they were cold, yet also warm in a way. They were strange. Confused. Just like her thoughts about the man before her.
What was he to her? What would he be later? Questions, questions. A sliver of her knew that she'd betray everyone the moment she could, but another part wondered... what if she didn't? Then again, some things never die - like cold evil. It's interred bone-deep. It has been nurtured for more than a few human lifetimes. It's been fed. It's been watered. Something that comes as a warm comfort, like Bayard, was more like a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of her life. Seven years was nothing.
"Have her eat the herb when she gets out. It'll help with muscle aches and soreness. The balm is for her sores." Melarue glanced over a shoulder for just a half-second, letting her bright gaze rest on the woman. There wasn't much emotion scrawled across her face, but perhaps there was gratefulness in there deep, deep, deep down inside. Way deep.
Melarue would allow Bayard to wash her face, but she'd not force him to deal with the rest of her. Instead, she took the soap with both palms and did the best that she could whilst also fastened to him. It wasn't ideal, but she'd not be dehumanized anymore than she had been already. For one reason or another, she'd prefer it if he didn't see her fully in such a state. No one should have to. Not even she wanted to.
When she was done she returned the soap to him; rather, it slipped out of her grasp and into the bath in the process. When she bent down to pick it up, she inadvertently started to drag him down as well, so she abandoned the task as soon as they bumped awkwardly into each other somehow. The whole experience was just... not natural at all.
Her stare, for whatever it was worth, was apologetic in nature.
Rue tugged on him in a way that seemed to signal that she was ready to get out, and when they were out of the bath, she seemed to know which bag to take. She'd point both of her hands at the chosen one.
"So," Phaedra cut through the silence and went on to inquire, "Does the assassin have a name?" Just before she spoke, he had been content to rest his head against the edge of the bath and close his eyes; sparing the woman his lingering gaze. Now, since she begged for his attention, he felt obliged to give it to her in full. He lifted his head and pinned her down in his sharp gaze.
His head tilted in a way that sort of rested on a broad shoulder, and he answered her after a few seconds of silently drinking up her figure. Sure, it was just a body - but a well-crafted one was hard to be inattentive to. Even with her figure riddled by the nature of her hazardous occupation, Phaedra could still be fully appreciated in his eyes. "Secarius," he answered, and while it was not his name, persay, it was his widely known moniker. It was safer than a real name, and she knew that.
"Would you mind?" She asked, as if it was really necessary.
He stood up and waded toward her, not that they had more than an arm's length of distance between them anyway. He gently took the soap from her hand and slightly pushed at a shoulder to turn her fully around. As he moved a few stray strands of slick hair still sticking to the wetness of her back, the tips of his fingers gliding along soft skin.
Laou was quiet for the time that he spent at her back; the soap, along with some of his own hand, trekking across her back. His brows furrowed a bit at the nature of her scarring; the stories of a harsh life etched into otherwise perfectly pallid and smooth flesh. It annoyed him for some reason, to see her so marred. In the assassin profession, it was still vastly uncommon for the women to be violent, but it seemed as though Phaedra was just as personal as he was. Yet, she's a woman. That bothered him. There were safer ways for a lady to carry out assassinations, and he couldn't help but wonder what led her down the path most taken by men.
Something else perplexed him. It was the extent and degree of the damage done to her body. Phaedra's skin still had a youthful radiance to it, and she didn't seem to be aged at all. Then again, maybe the same could apply to himself. Some genetic traits never betrayed an older age. Still, he wondered... how could she nearly challenge his own scarring? By all appearances, she was human. Could it be magic? But then... why keep the unsightly blemishes if youthfulness and beauty were the goals?
He scoffed softly at himself and decided to disregard those thoughts. Whatever happened in her life, it wasn't any of his business. Questions were not part of the occupation, and she probably has as much to hide for as many reasons as he did.
His body leaned just slightly off toward her right as Phaedra's next line of questioning slipped out. "What would you have done if the King wasn't there?" What would he have done? She began to turn around, and when she took the soap away from him they were close. Intimately close. "Would you have killed me?"
He reached behind him to pull one of the silken bathrobes from the bath floor. It was an off-white color with large billowing sleeves, but devoid of any other design. It was just meant to wear when one was ready to get out. He draped out over her back first, pulled her a bit closer, and then tugged the fabric gently across her torso. His knuckles lingered between the gentle curves of her chest for a brief moment, and he leaned down just enough to look her straight in the eyes, "If you're asking, then you already know. Don't you?" Why he chose to cover her was anyone's guess. It could have been that he had no desire to look at her anymore. Perhaps he'd rather not another man look at her. Maybe it's to save her from eyes lingering on her heinous scarring. Whatever it was, it had a lot to do with saving her own dignity.
This time he made it a point not to aggressively tow her out of the bath, "Unless you had something else in mind, I believe the Court Lady brought you attire to change into. Whenever you're ready." He took a bit of time to take the soap back from her so that he could give himself a quick wash. Emphasis on quick. He'd let her lead them out of the baths this time, giving her a little more agency over her own person. Just a little bit.
"You really know how to take the fun out of everything," Rendrik's dwarf companion grumped at him.
The man just laughed heartily, "You'll thank me when she lets you sleep peacefully at night with both eyes closed."
"Did you hear that, old man?" Aramis chimed in. "You're getting grumpy in your old age."
Rendrik grinned and looked over at Aramis' shackle partner. Naturally, they'd both be the ones tasked with babysitting two dwarves, as was appropriate for their characters. He didn't mind the little ones as much as other humans might, as they seemed to have a much lighter and freer spirit when compared to his own peers. Dwarves just wanted to be Dwarves - they didn't have need or want of anything other than that.
He did wonder what these two did to end up in the dungeons, though. They are an insular species that preferred to mind their own. They were small, but their bodies were dense with muscular mass that could rival that of humans and Elves. They worked laborious tasks all their lives and are not to be taken lightly just because of their small stature. They could have done something, but Rendrik was having a hard time diving deep enough into his imagination and understanding of their culture. Maybe they were pirates. Smugglers. Thieves. Then again...
He looked between the two Dwarves...
.... maybe not. They were both loud and obscene. The female couldn't possibly be a thief, but there was always the notion that she could have been a pirate. She did seem to have that general attitude. He took a look at her just as a general survey of her physical characteristics. Some scarring, but not much that would point to being a criminal. Then he looked at Vonmyr, and giving him the up and down probably wasn't as taboo or whatever. "I'm glad Laou brought up the bath..." he mentioned off-handedly. "No one should have to be shackled to such foul-smelling creatures." His tone was obviously jesting, as he had this really dumb smile that accompanied it.
Honestly, Megina did not have a thing for humans. As handsome as Aramis was, for a human, she's not into mixing races like that. It was weird. He was very, very safe from any predatory antics that he might believe she has. When he got to scrubbing her back, her shoulders drooped in a relaxed manner. It is nice to be clean. "I'm Aramis, by the way."
"Megina, and thank you, kind Sir," she thanked him, but it almost had a sort of mocking tone to it. Unintentional, of course - she just liked to joke around and sometimes forgets that her audience doesn't find her funny at all. Their loss, really.
"Here you go," Rose's voice snatched Rendrik out of whatever spell he fell into, and he reached up to gently take the soap from her hand. While his fingers, as rough as they were, did brush over his own - she might be able to tell that the contact was benign. The woman was beautiful - there'd be no denying that ever, but he had a hard time with women.
In exchange for her smile, he offered her a silly wink, "Many thanks, M'lady." When she let the four of them know that clothing would be awaiting them outside of the baths, she left the bathhouse. He watched her parting figure for a second or two, but it wasn't for the reason one might think.
Of course... that didn't stop Vonmyr from voicing those exact thoughts, "I didn't realize you were such a fan of roses." Since the Dwarf seemed interested in being the center of attention, Rendrik was happy to oblige in his usual sarcastic nature.
Sometimes Rendrik's jokes could be laced with such serious tones that they were hard to discern from reality. He gave the little man a not-so-subtle up and down glance, smirked, put on his best flirty deep voice that had a sort of predatory rumble to it, "Who even said I liked women? I did shackle myself to you."
He'd leave Vonmyr with those thoughts, and likely Aramis shaking his head and chuckling away. He decided to rest the back of his head against the pool's edge and let the Dwarf continue to bathe without his interference. He had already forgotten about the rose-scented soap, but to be honest - he didn't want to smell like a rose anyway.
Alas, the time in the bath was beginning to draw to a close. It was necessary to move on. Melarue had allowed Bayard to dress her, and in return for his kind service to her, she did a rare thing and assisted him with his own attire as best as she could.
After the process, she snatched up one of his hands and placed it in her own, palm up. One of her fingers traced letters over his skin and a few short-hand sketches that they've learned over the years. "Will I stay shackled even when we leave here?" It was an honest question, though she felt that the answer was already there somewhere. Not that she'd blame the king or his men for their reluctance in lending her a bit of freedom. As she'd displayed time and time again until Bayard assigned himself to her if one gave Melarue an inch, she'd take a mile - and then some. It was just her nature, and she couldn't help herself.
Megina was also ready to get out of the bath, but she let Aramis do whatever it is he needed to do first. Afterward, they were out and she was tugging out clothes after drying up. The redhead sure did know how to pick proper attire! Since they were going on a suicide mission, they should all look decent.
As Megina got dressed she snuck a glance over toward Melarue and Bayard. She shuddered. A chill ran up her spine. She couldn't do anything about it. She could have sworn that she saw Rue smirk at that, too! Several guards have tried their best to do what they could with that woman, but only the man with her now could tame her obviously rabid personality. She didn't know anything about the mage, but what she did know was that she was dangerous - and that she'd likely be a nervous wreck about her presence the entire time.
Which brought her thoughts elsewhere as she continued to tug on clothes and fasten straps. Kill her King? For freedom? That was laughable. There was no reason for a Dwarf to kill their nobility. None at all. Especially not for a pathetic human. She'd rather die while attempting to escape the situation later on as they moved through the journey. Her gaze caught Vonmyr for a second, and she wondered if he thought the same thing. They'd get out of this situation sooner or later. To help a Human kill a King whose people wanted nothing to do with anyone else... Ridiculous.
Rendrik was getting dried off and dressed at just the same time as Megina and Aramis. It just so happened that Rose knew his taste exactly. He's a simple man; a tunic, some slacks, and boots - that would do him just fine. He always joked that, with his ruggedly good looks, he could make the ladies drop dead even if he were wearing a potato sack. Not that he was particularly interested in drawing the interest of any women at the moment.
The guards would unshackle the prisoners from their guards just long enough to let them get dressed without much trouble. Of course, they didn't bother with Melarue and Bayard. They just let him take care of her on his own, only tossing him the key when he needed it.
Laou dressed in something that resembled the attire that he had tossed aside shortly before bathing. It was cultural from some part of Ilyos, as humans were a myriad of ethnicities and cultures. There were few of his own race and they were vastly impoverished, but they were also deeply traditional and held steadfast to their own identity. They were still, in a strange sense, foreign in appearance and culture. Most of them went into service trades, and being an Assassin wasn't all that different. It was still a service, albeit a bloody one.
He took the time to brush his hair back, as it was long and fell to his chest. He tried the same silver ornament in his hair after sweeping the top half up in a fist. It was originally his sister's, and it had notes of violet filigree blooming in floral design. It had a feminine appeal, but he didn't care. He realized that he needed more than one hand for this, so he placed the hair ornament in Phaedra's palm and continued to hold onto the fistful that he wanted up. Afterward, he stuck the binyeo through to fasten it in place.
He never removed his mask. In fact, it was hard to see beneath his bangs anyway. Another one awaited him, though, and he exchanged the more elegant mask with the slight golden design for one that was more rugged and mundane. He turned away from Phaedra to do this, hiding away his face until he could finish strapping it in place.
When he was done he looked over at her, "Let's go." It was more a demand than anything, but he did let her finish. He was eager to be released from her and to do that they'd have to leave these castle walls and this land.
Rendrik waited for his companion to dress before they trailed after Laou. It seems that everyone was ready to be free of their charges. After they walked out of the bathhouse he caught Rosalyn staring out of a window. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, "We are ready to go." What else could he say to her? Sorry that she had to leave everything behind?
He looked over at Aramis, who likely had some of the same thoughts of not being able to come back. He considered Aramis and his niece part of his family, so he understood. He understood what it was like to not know if they would come back or if things would be the same when they do.
Megina was content to allow Aramis to tug her along as they followed Rendrik and the Assassins out.
A body was just that - a body, and the fact that he undressed her and she was now bare was of no concern to her. If anything, she knew that she was unkempt and odorous. There was nothing attractive about that. The fact that he might have stared a second too long would have also not bothered her, as he is a man and she a woman. It's natural. The only thing that bothered her was the lack of dignity. She wasn't even treated as human, and that was really saying something as humans were the lowest of the low. Yet, Bayard, as he does - fought verbally with the guards on behalf of her. Not that it worked, but at least it was something. She seemed to count on him for much over the last few years.
He pulled off her headpiece and her hair fell around her shoulders; raven and stringy from the neglect. A mauve gaze would greet his own for some time; locked in place to watch him as he washed her face, wondering what would become of him later on down the line. It'd be a lie to say that she hadn't developed some strange attachment to the man. But would they fade away once she had a taste of freedom? Her eyes betrayed nothing; they were cold, yet also warm in a way. They were strange. Confused. Just like her thoughts about the man before her.
What was he to her? What would he be later? Questions, questions. A sliver of her knew that she'd betray everyone the moment she could, but another part wondered... what if she didn't? Then again, some things never die - like cold evil. It's interred bone-deep. It has been nurtured for more than a few human lifetimes. It's been fed. It's been watered. Something that comes as a warm comfort, like Bayard, was more like a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of her life. Seven years was nothing.
"Have her eat the herb when she gets out. It'll help with muscle aches and soreness. The balm is for her sores." Melarue glanced over a shoulder for just a half-second, letting her bright gaze rest on the woman. There wasn't much emotion scrawled across her face, but perhaps there was gratefulness in there deep, deep, deep down inside. Way deep.
Melarue would allow Bayard to wash her face, but she'd not force him to deal with the rest of her. Instead, she took the soap with both palms and did the best that she could whilst also fastened to him. It wasn't ideal, but she'd not be dehumanized anymore than she had been already. For one reason or another, she'd prefer it if he didn't see her fully in such a state. No one should have to. Not even she wanted to.
When she was done she returned the soap to him; rather, it slipped out of her grasp and into the bath in the process. When she bent down to pick it up, she inadvertently started to drag him down as well, so she abandoned the task as soon as they bumped awkwardly into each other somehow. The whole experience was just... not natural at all.
Her stare, for whatever it was worth, was apologetic in nature.
Rue tugged on him in a way that seemed to signal that she was ready to get out, and when they were out of the bath, she seemed to know which bag to take. She'd point both of her hands at the chosen one.
"So," Phaedra cut through the silence and went on to inquire, "Does the assassin have a name?" Just before she spoke, he had been content to rest his head against the edge of the bath and close his eyes; sparing the woman his lingering gaze. Now, since she begged for his attention, he felt obliged to give it to her in full. He lifted his head and pinned her down in his sharp gaze.
His head tilted in a way that sort of rested on a broad shoulder, and he answered her after a few seconds of silently drinking up her figure. Sure, it was just a body - but a well-crafted one was hard to be inattentive to. Even with her figure riddled by the nature of her hazardous occupation, Phaedra could still be fully appreciated in his eyes. "Secarius," he answered, and while it was not his name, persay, it was his widely known moniker. It was safer than a real name, and she knew that.
"Would you mind?" She asked, as if it was really necessary.
He stood up and waded toward her, not that they had more than an arm's length of distance between them anyway. He gently took the soap from her hand and slightly pushed at a shoulder to turn her fully around. As he moved a few stray strands of slick hair still sticking to the wetness of her back, the tips of his fingers gliding along soft skin.
Laou was quiet for the time that he spent at her back; the soap, along with some of his own hand, trekking across her back. His brows furrowed a bit at the nature of her scarring; the stories of a harsh life etched into otherwise perfectly pallid and smooth flesh. It annoyed him for some reason, to see her so marred. In the assassin profession, it was still vastly uncommon for the women to be violent, but it seemed as though Phaedra was just as personal as he was. Yet, she's a woman. That bothered him. There were safer ways for a lady to carry out assassinations, and he couldn't help but wonder what led her down the path most taken by men.
Something else perplexed him. It was the extent and degree of the damage done to her body. Phaedra's skin still had a youthful radiance to it, and she didn't seem to be aged at all. Then again, maybe the same could apply to himself. Some genetic traits never betrayed an older age. Still, he wondered... how could she nearly challenge his own scarring? By all appearances, she was human. Could it be magic? But then... why keep the unsightly blemishes if youthfulness and beauty were the goals?
He scoffed softly at himself and decided to disregard those thoughts. Whatever happened in her life, it wasn't any of his business. Questions were not part of the occupation, and she probably has as much to hide for as many reasons as he did.
His body leaned just slightly off toward her right as Phaedra's next line of questioning slipped out. "What would you have done if the King wasn't there?" What would he have done? She began to turn around, and when she took the soap away from him they were close. Intimately close. "Would you have killed me?"
He reached behind him to pull one of the silken bathrobes from the bath floor. It was an off-white color with large billowing sleeves, but devoid of any other design. It was just meant to wear when one was ready to get out. He draped out over her back first, pulled her a bit closer, and then tugged the fabric gently across her torso. His knuckles lingered between the gentle curves of her chest for a brief moment, and he leaned down just enough to look her straight in the eyes, "If you're asking, then you already know. Don't you?" Why he chose to cover her was anyone's guess. It could have been that he had no desire to look at her anymore. Perhaps he'd rather not another man look at her. Maybe it's to save her from eyes lingering on her heinous scarring. Whatever it was, it had a lot to do with saving her own dignity.
This time he made it a point not to aggressively tow her out of the bath, "Unless you had something else in mind, I believe the Court Lady brought you attire to change into. Whenever you're ready." He took a bit of time to take the soap back from her so that he could give himself a quick wash. Emphasis on quick. He'd let her lead them out of the baths this time, giving her a little more agency over her own person. Just a little bit.
"You really know how to take the fun out of everything," Rendrik's dwarf companion grumped at him.
The man just laughed heartily, "You'll thank me when she lets you sleep peacefully at night with both eyes closed."
"Did you hear that, old man?" Aramis chimed in. "You're getting grumpy in your old age."
Rendrik grinned and looked over at Aramis' shackle partner. Naturally, they'd both be the ones tasked with babysitting two dwarves, as was appropriate for their characters. He didn't mind the little ones as much as other humans might, as they seemed to have a much lighter and freer spirit when compared to his own peers. Dwarves just wanted to be Dwarves - they didn't have need or want of anything other than that.
He did wonder what these two did to end up in the dungeons, though. They are an insular species that preferred to mind their own. They were small, but their bodies were dense with muscular mass that could rival that of humans and Elves. They worked laborious tasks all their lives and are not to be taken lightly just because of their small stature. They could have done something, but Rendrik was having a hard time diving deep enough into his imagination and understanding of their culture. Maybe they were pirates. Smugglers. Thieves. Then again...
He looked between the two Dwarves...
.... maybe not. They were both loud and obscene. The female couldn't possibly be a thief, but there was always the notion that she could have been a pirate. She did seem to have that general attitude. He took a look at her just as a general survey of her physical characteristics. Some scarring, but not much that would point to being a criminal. Then he looked at Vonmyr, and giving him the up and down probably wasn't as taboo or whatever. "I'm glad Laou brought up the bath..." he mentioned off-handedly. "No one should have to be shackled to such foul-smelling creatures." His tone was obviously jesting, as he had this really dumb smile that accompanied it.
Honestly, Megina did not have a thing for humans. As handsome as Aramis was, for a human, she's not into mixing races like that. It was weird. He was very, very safe from any predatory antics that he might believe she has. When he got to scrubbing her back, her shoulders drooped in a relaxed manner. It is nice to be clean. "I'm Aramis, by the way."
"Megina, and thank you, kind Sir," she thanked him, but it almost had a sort of mocking tone to it. Unintentional, of course - she just liked to joke around and sometimes forgets that her audience doesn't find her funny at all. Their loss, really.
"Here you go," Rose's voice snatched Rendrik out of whatever spell he fell into, and he reached up to gently take the soap from her hand. While his fingers, as rough as they were, did brush over his own - she might be able to tell that the contact was benign. The woman was beautiful - there'd be no denying that ever, but he had a hard time with women.
In exchange for her smile, he offered her a silly wink, "Many thanks, M'lady." When she let the four of them know that clothing would be awaiting them outside of the baths, she left the bathhouse. He watched her parting figure for a second or two, but it wasn't for the reason one might think.
Of course... that didn't stop Vonmyr from voicing those exact thoughts, "I didn't realize you were such a fan of roses." Since the Dwarf seemed interested in being the center of attention, Rendrik was happy to oblige in his usual sarcastic nature.
Sometimes Rendrik's jokes could be laced with such serious tones that they were hard to discern from reality. He gave the little man a not-so-subtle up and down glance, smirked, put on his best flirty deep voice that had a sort of predatory rumble to it, "Who even said I liked women? I did shackle myself to you."
He'd leave Vonmyr with those thoughts, and likely Aramis shaking his head and chuckling away. He decided to rest the back of his head against the pool's edge and let the Dwarf continue to bathe without his interference. He had already forgotten about the rose-scented soap, but to be honest - he didn't want to smell like a rose anyway.
Alas, the time in the bath was beginning to draw to a close. It was necessary to move on. Melarue had allowed Bayard to dress her, and in return for his kind service to her, she did a rare thing and assisted him with his own attire as best as she could.
After the process, she snatched up one of his hands and placed it in her own, palm up. One of her fingers traced letters over his skin and a few short-hand sketches that they've learned over the years. "Will I stay shackled even when we leave here?" It was an honest question, though she felt that the answer was already there somewhere. Not that she'd blame the king or his men for their reluctance in lending her a bit of freedom. As she'd displayed time and time again until Bayard assigned himself to her if one gave Melarue an inch, she'd take a mile - and then some. It was just her nature, and she couldn't help herself.
Megina was also ready to get out of the bath, but she let Aramis do whatever it is he needed to do first. Afterward, they were out and she was tugging out clothes after drying up. The redhead sure did know how to pick proper attire! Since they were going on a suicide mission, they should all look decent.
As Megina got dressed she snuck a glance over toward Melarue and Bayard. She shuddered. A chill ran up her spine. She couldn't do anything about it. She could have sworn that she saw Rue smirk at that, too! Several guards have tried their best to do what they could with that woman, but only the man with her now could tame her obviously rabid personality. She didn't know anything about the mage, but what she did know was that she was dangerous - and that she'd likely be a nervous wreck about her presence the entire time.
Which brought her thoughts elsewhere as she continued to tug on clothes and fasten straps. Kill her King? For freedom? That was laughable. There was no reason for a Dwarf to kill their nobility. None at all. Especially not for a pathetic human. She'd rather die while attempting to escape the situation later on as they moved through the journey. Her gaze caught Vonmyr for a second, and she wondered if he thought the same thing. They'd get out of this situation sooner or later. To help a Human kill a King whose people wanted nothing to do with anyone else... Ridiculous.
Rendrik was getting dried off and dressed at just the same time as Megina and Aramis. It just so happened that Rose knew his taste exactly. He's a simple man; a tunic, some slacks, and boots - that would do him just fine. He always joked that, with his ruggedly good looks, he could make the ladies drop dead even if he were wearing a potato sack. Not that he was particularly interested in drawing the interest of any women at the moment.
The guards would unshackle the prisoners from their guards just long enough to let them get dressed without much trouble. Of course, they didn't bother with Melarue and Bayard. They just let him take care of her on his own, only tossing him the key when he needed it.
Laou dressed in something that resembled the attire that he had tossed aside shortly before bathing. It was cultural from some part of Ilyos, as humans were a myriad of ethnicities and cultures. There were few of his own race and they were vastly impoverished, but they were also deeply traditional and held steadfast to their own identity. They were still, in a strange sense, foreign in appearance and culture. Most of them went into service trades, and being an Assassin wasn't all that different. It was still a service, albeit a bloody one.
He took the time to brush his hair back, as it was long and fell to his chest. He tried the same silver ornament in his hair after sweeping the top half up in a fist. It was originally his sister's, and it had notes of violet filigree blooming in floral design. It had a feminine appeal, but he didn't care. He realized that he needed more than one hand for this, so he placed the hair ornament in Phaedra's palm and continued to hold onto the fistful that he wanted up. Afterward, he stuck the binyeo through to fasten it in place.
He never removed his mask. In fact, it was hard to see beneath his bangs anyway. Another one awaited him, though, and he exchanged the more elegant mask with the slight golden design for one that was more rugged and mundane. He turned away from Phaedra to do this, hiding away his face until he could finish strapping it in place.
When he was done he looked over at her, "Let's go." It was more a demand than anything, but he did let her finish. He was eager to be released from her and to do that they'd have to leave these castle walls and this land.
Rendrik waited for his companion to dress before they trailed after Laou. It seems that everyone was ready to be free of their charges. After they walked out of the bathhouse he caught Rosalyn staring out of a window. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, "We are ready to go." What else could he say to her? Sorry that she had to leave everything behind?
He looked over at Aramis, who likely had some of the same thoughts of not being able to come back. He considered Aramis and his niece part of his family, so he understood. He understood what it was like to not know if they would come back or if things would be the same when they do.
Megina was content to allow Aramis to tug her along as they followed Rendrik and the Assassins out.